Eight Lives

It was a typical bus ride on the way to Clearfield High School until I saw a sad pile of mashed black fur clinging to the road. I was horrified. Melody loved that cat. Smokey had been a Christmas present the year before, and ever since she hand-picked the tiny black kitten from the Ogden animal shelter she had adored him. His previous owners had him declawed and as a result he didn’t venture outdoors very often. I was surprised that he wandered several blocks from home to meet his fate on a busy road, but that hazy shade of black fur was unmistakable. As soon as I got off the bus, I headed for the pay phone to tell my mom the bad news. Through the rest of the school day I worried how my seven year old sister was going to react to the death of her beloved pet.

My parents had the same concern as they scraped Smokey’s mangled remains off the asphalt and placed him in a cardboard box. When they got home, they decided to leave his left his leftovers in the car until they had time to soften the blow for Melody. Mournfully they opened the door and stepped into the house and called out Melody’s name, but before she had time to answer, Smokey greeted my parents at the top of the stairs. He was alive! Thanks to my phone call, Mom and Dad had performed a free public service and cleaned someone else’s cat off the road, but at least they didn’t have to break their daughter’s heart. Years later, two questions still remain. Whose cat was it? And most importantly, does the incident deduct one of Smokey’s nine lives?